Company Monk
by CocaCola43
Summary: AU. Miroku's a clerk at a lingerie store. Sango's the new customer. And she doesn't seem to like him very much...
1. I Met You Twice And I Hate You Still

A/N: Heh…my brain is...yeah, well, the stupid creativity department went crazy, my imagination's been running wild…and this -- thing -- is what I came up with…

But I like my random silly pointless story plots! They're interesting! To me, at least…

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Inu-Yasha. Inu-Yasha belongs to Takahashi Rumiko. I do not own Post-It Notes. Post-It Notes belong to Art Fry. I do not own any of the existing brand names mentioned in this chapter or in other chapters to follow after. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned parties. I am writing this strictly for entertainment purposes only. I am not making any money from this and intend no copyright infringement.

That, I think, will be an adequate disclaimer for the rest of the story. Don't you?

Pairings: Miroku/Sango

Warnings: If you don't like the pairing (and I don't see why you wouldn't), stay away! The rest is normal stuff, you know...read what it says below.

Rated: PG-13 for the usual – groping, mild language, innuendo, etc…

**Company Monk**

**By CocaCola43**

**One – I Met You Twice And I Hate You Still**

****

_**Miroku**_

It was another day of…**_it_**. **_It _**was horrible, disgusting, mocking, derogatory. **_It _**was also very, very hard to get rid of.

**_It _**was unemployment.

Miroku sighed and flipped through the classical ads. There were a few people in Kyoto who needed someone to take care of their dog…but being with animals wasn't Miroku's type of job. He wasn't that type of person. In fact, he was an animal himself.

All humans were animals. And he was a human.

Duh.

He turned the page, carefully scrutinizing the tiny print for anything promising. Bathing an old woman? No. Too wrinkled. Keeping house for a busy family? No. Too dirty. Being a clerk in a lingerie store? No. Too –

Wait.

His fingers, stained and dirtied with newspaper ink, reached subconsciously for the pair of scissors he'd prepared for his ad-cutting hours ago. His eyes never left the heavenly words: _Seeking clerk for Mai's Lingerie. Must be able to take measures and do simple addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. Friendly personality and sense of humor needed._

Miroku could take measures. He could do simple addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. He had a friendly personality, and his acquaintances were always commenting about his unusual sense of humor. He fit the requirements exactly – perhaps he even exceeded them.

And as an added bonus, he could work with women. Young, beautiful, buxom women. He'd win them over with his friendly personality and sense of humor, he knew it. Smiling to himself, he cut out the ad, copying down the listed phone number and address on his new pad of yellow Post-It Notes.

He was going to get dressed, get on the subway, and go talk to the manager of Mai's Lingerie personally.

**_Sango_**

****

****She was happy, to say the least. Her younger brother had just been accepted into a prestigious high school. What reason had she to be unhappy? None at all, for Sango loved her brother as dearly as she would a son. Kohaku was, in fact, a mixture of brother and son. Their mother had passed away years ago due to an accident – the details were hazy – and since then Sango had become her brother's best friend, and vice versa.

It was the day after they'd received the news of Kohaku being accepted into Kouzoku High, and she was going to accompany him to go have a look around the campus. They were going by the subway, of course – how else were they supposed to get there? Their family didn't own a car, and their father only had his motorcycle. It was only natural that she, a college graduate, would help her little brother on the same path to glory she'd taken.

Of course, she reflected sardonically, her eyes fixed at the blank TV screen in front of her, her path hadn't necessarily been one of glory. She'd received a Bachelor's Degree in Accounting at Hisui Rindou University, and where was she now? Almost twenty-two, boyfriend-less, broke, and – this was the killer – **unemployed**. Everything else was fixed forever until she got a job. Well, not her age, but her pathetic love life, her poverty…

A crash from down the hall awakened her from The Daily Wallowing in Self-Pity Thingy Ritual. A curse followed, and she suspected that her brother was struggling to put his socks on. It always went like this. Poor Kohaku's feet just grew way too quickly. Last night, a size 7 – this morning, a size 8 ½. It was enough to make one's head hurt.

"Hurry up, Kohaku, we don't have all day," she called. "The campus will be closing in an hour, and it takes fifteen minutes to get there on the subway."

"I'm – trying – ane-ue!" her brother grunted, hopping on one foot into the living room. The sock was stuck on his left foot at an odd angle. "I can't get this on!"

"Then don't wear socks at all," Sango suggested.

Kohaku paused, his youthful mind now enlightened with the powerful words of his elder sister. "Oh yeah," he said in awe, brown eyes wide. His mouth curved into a sheepish smile. "I forgot." He tugged off the sock and tossed it to one side. "Let's go!"

With a sigh, Sango left the house, Kohaku at her heels. They now had forty minutes. Who knew that time could pass so quickly?

**_Miroku_**

****

****He was waiting in line. Again. He had bad experiences with lines. The last time he'd been in one this long, he'd been fired. Apparently his boss thought he was moving too slowly.

Miroku's violet eyes darted from one side of the room to the other. Was there no escape? Was he doomed to stand here, waiting, forever?

Ah, but the line was moving much quicker now. Soon he was at the front – he had his tickets – yes, he could board the subway. He would be getting off at the Kouzoku High Stop; Mai's Lingerie was near it. Thank you, have a nice day, you too.

He stepped into the crowded subway and squeezed himself into a hair's breadth of space between an old man and the pole. Two people – one a boy, one an older girl – were standing in front of him. The girl was holding a cup of coffee in her hand, chatting animatedly. Miroku struggled to catch what she was saying –

"And so when school starts, be sure to be extra polite to everyone, but not too polite because then they're think you're a pushover – yes, I know you already are one, but try to act tougher, Kohaku – and be nice to the teachers, do exactly what they say unless it's horribly unreasonable. Okay?" The girl's dark brown eyes glinted with some sort of determination. She liked her brother very much; that was obvious.

He found himself staring at the girl's rear end. Well-developed – but she couldn't have been less than twenty years old, so she was over-age. The tips of her brownish black ponytail swished gently – oh, all right, so her hair wasn't that healthy, but still, she did have a nice ass – and it brushed against her elbows.

Miroku was staring. Involuntarily, his hand floated up to touch it – it couldn't be real, she couldn't have such a perfect – oh, but it was real, and it felt –

Painful. The girl had just spun around and smacked him with an open palm. Her cup of coffee slipped from her hand and it spilled all over him. Ow.

"I'm sorry!" he half-howled, his eyes screwed up from the burning pain. "I didn't mean to – ow!"

The girl huffed angrily and hit him again. She was about to hit him a third time when the younger boy at her side tugged at her arm and said, "Ane-ue, can you please not hit him anymore? People are staring…"

And it was true. Everyone in their compartment was staring, wide-eyed, blue-, green-, brown-, hazel-eyed, gazing interestedly at them.

The subway slowed to a complete stop, and the doors slid open with a satisfying 'whoosh' of air. Everyone stepped out, gossiping and talking amongst themselves as if nothing had happened. Miroku stood up to leave, apologizing profusely, his short ponytail waggling slightly whenever he shook his head or nodded.

The girl and her little brother left, walking in the opposite direction of where Miroku was headed. He sighed sadly. And she was pretty cute, too…

Miroku checked his badly drawn map of the city and sighed. He'd be better off taking a cab, these lines were useless. He didn't know one thing from another. Walking up the steps into the bright sunshine, he spotted some taxi drivers relaxing in the shade of a palm tree.

"Hey! Uh…could you drive me to Mai's Lingerie?" he called.

The four taxi drivers glanced over at him. One snickered. "Sure," he replied. "What're you going to do there?"

Miroku stood up straight and tall, his eyes filled with a fierce pride. "I'm going to buy a bra for my loved one." So it was a lie. So what?

"I'll take you," a braided man said loudly. "I was getting bored anyway, it won't be that much trouble." He stepped into his car, waiting for Miroku to do the same, and the engine revved. "You'll be there in seconds," he assured his passenger. "I drive fast."

Seconds later, the car skidded to a halt. Miroku clutched his heart and ordered himself to breath deeply…he was still alive…

"Thank you," he said, once he'd calmed down. "Here you go – your money –"

The braided man looked pleased, and he drove away with a smile. Miroku entered the shop and looked around tentatively. It was…lacy. White. Pink. Red. Blue. Black. Green. Gold. Silver. Purple.

It was a rainbow of colors!

He marched up to a surprised looking cashier. Obviously there hadn't been a male in this store for ages – perhaps there never had been. "I'd like to speak to your manager," he announced.

"Wha? What did I do?"

"Nothing, I'd like to speak to your manager," he repeated, his voice rising.

"Uh…okay." The cashier wound a strand of hair around a finger and picked up a phone. "Izayuki-sama…some guy wants to talk to you…Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yup. Uh-huh. Excuse me," she said, covering the mouthpiece with her hand and leaning toward Miroku. "What do you wanna see her for?"

"I'm going to apply for the position of clerk," he said firmly.

"Clerk," the cashier sighed into the receiver. "Yup. Yes. Okay." She hung up. "She'll see you in five minutes. She's busy right now. In the meantime," the cashier gestured listlessly toward the heaping piles of lingerie, "make yourself comfortable."

Miroku nodded, hurried over to a display window, and began inspecting the mannequins' rear ends. Nice, but nowhere NEAR as great at the girl on the subway's had been. How sad that they would never meet again…

"Hey, you."

Miroku turned around, attracted by the sound of the voice. "Yeah?" he asked, his eyebrows raised.

"I'm the manager, stupid." The old woman sighed and shook a finger at him. "You wanted the job?"

"Oh – oh, yeah," Miroku said, now understanding.

"You got it," she grumbled. "I need a clerk, and bad. You know what to do already, right?"

"Yes – yes, I suppose so," Miroku said innocently.

"So get to work."

**_Sango_**

****

****Kohaku was running all over the place. It was impossible trying to stop him. Any form of restraint would go awry. The poor silly boy was sobbing about grades, homework, and evil teachers. Comforting him was no use either – she had been trying for the last half-hour, and nothing worked.

"Kohaku," she coaxed, "do you want an ice cream?"

Kohaku sniffled and nodded, hanging from the limbs of a tree.

"Well, then, you'll just have to come down and buy one yourself."

Kohaku let go of the tree and obediently walked over to the ice cream vendor.

Sango sighed. She was feeling bored…she wanted to shop. Where was a good place to shop?

_I need some new underclothes…_

"Kohaku, I'm going shopping. Can you stay here all by yourself for an hour or two?"

The boy nodded, licking his vanilla ice cream.

**_Miroku_**

****

****Being a clerk was boring. But he was being paid! He was going to earn money! And he got to talk to hot young women!

That is, if any of them decided to walk through this door.

He prayed to Buddha. Please –

The doorbell rang, and someone walked in. Miroku opened his eyes and spotted the young girl. His prayer was answered.

But wait. This was the girl from the subway. His blood ran cold. What if –

"Oh, our new clerk, Miroku, would be glad to help you," the cashier said happily. A customer!

The girl nodded and walked over to him. She slowed down, though, and little by little her eyes became round…

"**_You!_**" she said furiously.

"Uh…me," Miroku responded, trying to smile bravely. "So, uh…what are you looking for? Mai's Lingerie has the best bargains on everything, from brassieres to under –"

"I'll **kill **you!" the girl snarled. Her hands were clenched into fists, her mahogany eyes crackling with energy. She was a sight to behold.

"Now, don't you think you're taking things a bit too harshly?" Miroku asked amiably.

His only reply was an animalistic growl.

"So," he continued, feeling a sort of empty confidence that was really depressing, "er…what's your bra size?"

The girl lunged, aimed for his throat. He dodged the attack, and she was sent hurtling into a heap of cotton underwear. "I'm so sorry for the incident on the subway," he said – was he talking to himself now? – "And I hope we can be friends."

This, clearly, was the wrong thing to say. The girl stared at Miroku as if he were crazy and chuckled. Even that sounded menacing.

"Friends?" she growled. "You – GROPED – me – you VIOLATED my – you –"

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I shall repeat this until you understand that it was an accident, and we will pretend we've never seen each other ever before."

He hoped that was soon.

Because he really didn't want to die young.

A/N: So how'd you like it? Next chapter, they get a little…more…acquainted…I guess you could call it that.

Review!


	2. Let's Start Over

A/N: Well, it was…surprising…getting all that feedback. Thanks to all who reviewed!

Those of you looking for another good read, out of my nine (my, what a high number!) stories, I'd recommend "Nine Months of Horror," "Consequences of Matrimony," and "A Labour of Love." I know, I am just oh-so-vain…

Also, I was confused while reading some of your reviews. I didn't realize I had that much dry humor stored within the recesses of my imagination.

Anyway, I won't be rambling for too long…don't want to annoy you guys…

The last name Mukai is taken from a…schoolmate of mine. I own it not, although I do wish I did! Does not the last name Mukai inspire something within the dark dank depths of the human heart? Does it not make one wish to leap with joy? Okay…never mind.

Disclaimer: Go to the first chapter if you want to see one, because I ain't putting one here after the strenuous brain workout I went through trying to come up with the first. I swear, my sweat was bloody!

Pairings: Miroku/Sango

Warnings: If you don't like the pairing (and I don't see why you wouldn't), stay away!

Rated: PG-13 for the usual – groping, mild language, innuendo, etc…

**Company Monk**

**By CocaCola43**

**Two – Let's Start Over**

**_Sango_ **

****

"…and we will pretend we've never even seen each other before."

Sango stared at the perverted man, her tone filled with animosity. "I don't think so."

The short-pony tailed man gave a sound of protest, purple eyes gazing innocently at her. She snorted. About as innocent as… What?

The man had gone on his knees. He was pleading, his hands clasped together under his chin, his face slightly upturned.

Sango's tight fists slowly unclenched, and her hands drifted downwards to her sides. If he had gone to such extremes…

"Forgive me, miss," he said.

Something within her twanged, and the girl felt a heated blush spread across her cheeks. Perhaps…

Perhaps he wasn't so bad after all.

**_Miroku_**

****

****Ah, so the kneeling and the puppy-eyed look had worked. He wasn't going to die young after all.

"Forgive me, miss," he said, careful not to let his mouth twitch. He wouldn't want his amusement to show. The girl had such a strange expression on her pretty face, her arms slack and her back straight. She blushed, face turning red.

Miroku smiled inwardly. How cute.

He stood up, brushing some of the dust off his pants. "Now, let's start over. My name is Mukai Miroku. Have we met?" He extended his right hand in a gesture of friendship, hoping that the girl wouldn't be somehow offended.

Thankfully, she wasn't. Her hand moved slowly, almost reluctantly, and they shook. "My…my name is Hayama Sango," she said. "No, I don't think…I don't think we have met."

Her hand wasn't as soft as he expected, and he was surprised. So, this Sango was some sort of outdoorsy girl. Ah, but wasn't it obvious from the strength of her blows?

"Do you do any sports?" he asked sleekly, adding a friendly smile for the nice-guy effect. He didn't want to intimidate the girl.

"I used to do tae kwon do and soccer," Sango informed him. She looked flustered.

"You…_used _to do it. So you've stopped for a temporary reprieve?"

"I…well, it's sort of like that." Sango attempted a good-natured grin, but it seemed more like a tight frown.

"Yes, I understand. I myself took a few sports in the past, but I have taken a break from them." He gestured around the shop. "And look where I am now!"

His stab at a joke failed utterly. Sango didn't even crack a smile.

"Anyway…back to business. What are you planning to buy today?"

Sango's face was utterly deadpan as she replied, "A brassiere, if you will."

Never, in his entire life, had any woman said the word 'brassiere' to him. The effect was astounding. His heartbeat quickened, his eyes widened, his palms became sweaty.

"I…see." Even his throat was dry. "Well, we'll need to take measurements…I'll go get a measurement tape." He started off toward the back of the store where things like measuring tapes were usually kept.

"Wait a second, Mukai-san," Sango called. "I have my size already."

Relief flooded through him, and he turned around. "Really?"

Sango nodded. "You won't have to go through the trouble of measuring." She gave a stiff smile.

Miroku returned to his previous spot, muttering under his breath,"Thank you."__

"It's quite all right," Sango replied calmly. "Anyway, my size is 34B. I prefer white ones, but other colors are okay too, just so long as they aren't too dark or show-offy. Is that okay with you?"

"Uh…34B. White. I got it." He smiled, trying to cover up his nervousness, and dug through a pile of white brassieres. "I think this is the one you want," he said, choosing one and handing it to Sango.

She scrutinized it, examining carefully. "It's kind of too sheer," she pointed out. "Could you find another one?"

Miroku returned to the pile, picked out three that he thought looked all right, and gave them to his customer.

"Hmm…" She stared. "Are you sure this will – er – support me? It looks small."

"It's, uh, 34B, I think."

Sango checked the tag. "It's 34A," she sighed.

"Sorry."

Sango looked over the other two. "This one is okay," she said, lifting one up. It had small pink flowers embroidered onto it. "Where's the fitting room?"

He pointed. Sango left to try it on, and he was alone.

Maybe taking this job was a mistake after all. At the moment, it had seemed like a simple way to make money, but now…it was all too easy for his perverted side to show through.

Minutes later, Sango returned, the bra in her hand. "It's pretty comfortable," she informed him. "I'd like to buy it. Where…?"

Wordlessly, Miroku pointed to the cashier, who was staring at them. Sango nodded, smiled, and walked away. Miroku grinned half-heartedly and gave a small wave of farewell.

He was not usually like this.

Something was very, very wrong with his emotions right now.

Miroku never felt flustered. He was always calm…ish. At least he never stammered, and he _definitely _never was at a loss of words to say. He was always in control.

What was this girl doing to him…?

**_Sango_**

****She had found it. Her life's purpose. The thing she'd been looking for, ever since she'd fully understood what it was. The perfect one for her.

The bra was really comfortable.

And cheap, too. So, Mai's Lingerie **was **a great place to buy underclothing. She'd be coming here more often in the future.

Clutching her purchase, Sango waved good-bye to the cashier and glanced over at Miroku. He was staring at a mannequin's breasts. She almost sighed. Typical pervert…but he was pretty nice.

And good-looking, too.

No, he wasn't.

Yes, he was.

Well…he looked sad. His profile was melancholy, his full lips pulled down at the corners. Sango worried her own lower one.

"Good-bye, Mukai-san," she called.

The clerk's head swiveled around, his eyes landed on hers, and he gave a jaunty smile and wave. "Bye, Sango-sama. Have a great day!"

Sango nodded, acknowledging the farewell, and turned to leave. She pushed open the door…

And felt someone grab her arm gently. Miroku had restrained her.

"Wait up," he said, and what was that look – pained? – on his face? "Listen, I…know that we didn't get off on the right foot…but, er, would you be willing to accompany me to a dinner party? A friend of mine has invited me, and he said I could bring a guest. Will you – ?"

"When is it?"

"Oh – six o'clock next Thursday. I could take you there if you want."

"Do you have a car?"

_**Miroku**_

Why was she asking him so many questions? Didn't she trust him? Any normal girl would have jumped up and down at the slightest chance of going with him to a dinner party. "No-o…but I could hire a temporary chauffeur…"

Sango looked impressed. "Being a clerk here really pays that much? Is there an opening?"

"Er – what? Anyway, it's a formal dinner party, so…you'll have to wear something formal…"

"I guess so…"

"Great! So – leave me your address and phone number – "

Sango rattled off the needed information, and Miroku burned it into his memory. "I got it," he said, once she'd finished. "So – six o'clock Thursday? Two days from now, remember that, okay?"

"Yes, I will," Sango said, and she flashed him a shy smile. "Thanks, by the way, for being so helpful in assisting me in selecting a brassiere…I appreciated it."

She left with her bag and his full attentions.

_**Sango**_

****

****She was mentally rejoicing. She'd never been to a formal dinner party, and this would be a good opportunity to form connections and make new friends.

Maybe one of them could introduce her to the boss of a company…

She pictured the scene in her mind: She arrived at the party, dressed in a nice knee-length skirt and blouse, looking beautiful and focused and exactly like the businesswoman she wanted to look like. The crowd would quiet down as she walked past, and a man would bow, take her by the hand, and exclaim in a hushed, awed voice that she was the most fine-looking creature he'd ever seen. Then he'd lead her to another person who just happened to be the owner of, say, Microsoft, and was looking for a nice accountant to take care of his finances and fiscal needs…

They would whisper to each other and finally agree that she was the perfect candidate. And then she'd have a job.

It was a great plan.

It had never occurred to Sango that perhaps she could just go to the party and have fun, but then again, fun was out of the question when one was as poor as Sango was. Her brow had small, permanent creases from squinting down at the fine print of newspaper ads, her once-pianist's hands rough and chapped from doing her own laundry.

At this point, she had already given up the fantasy of finding "the perfect job" through a newspaper advertisement. She'd sent her resume to various people through the mail, but as she didn't have access to a computer at home, she would often trudge out to an internet stand on a rainy day, pay the man two dollars for the first hour, and go on to some job-searching website, writing down the phone numbers and addresses of those that seemed promising. Once she'd exhausted the pocket money she'd brought out for that day, she would return home, her slightly twisted umbrella blowing upside-down in the wind. Going out on sunny days was off-limits. Sunny days were reserved for exercise, as much as she could fit. What if she was offered a job as a gym teacher? It certainly wouldn't do to have her be out of shape.

She waited at a street corner for the light to turn green. Maybe she would go home…it wasn't as if…

Sango glanced at the wristwatch of the little girl standing beside her. It was six thirty-one. Was she forgetting something? She frowned, adjusted her grip on her bag.

And then she remembered it.

"KOHAKU!"

_**Kohaku**_

****

****Where was ane-ue? She should have been back long ago. He was beginning to get worried.

Kohaku tugged on his bangs, silently counting the seconds as they passed by. His sister would be back in a minute, he assured himself.

Sixty seconds passed, with no trace of the older girl. Another two minutes, he thought to himself, she's just on her way.

He counted to a hundred and twenty. Nothing.

The campus had closed long ago, and he had managed to stay hidden by climbing a large pine tree. It had been all he could do not to whimper when the pine needles stabbed him. Then, when the guards had retired to their little rooms in the main building, he'd climbed down and waited.

It was too bad that the ice cream vendor had gone home already. He was hungry.

It was bad enough that he was alone and abandoned; now his stomach was aching with hunger. And cold to boot.

Kohaku had always been afraid of the dark; it was a given. But usually he had his sister to comfort him and reassure him that there were no monsters lurking in the black unknown. This time, she wasn't there.

Three hours was a long time to wait.

Where was ane-ue?

His eyelids lowered. It was hard trying to stay awake, especially for he who was accustomed to a five hour nap every afternoon.

He soon fell asleep, lulled by the soft chirping of crickets.

It was even darker when he woke up. Kohaku shivered, his arms subconsciously wrapping themselves around himself. At first he thought that it was the cold that had awakened him, but when someone began to speak, he knew then that the person had jerked him awake.

"Hello," a clear, sweet, childish voice said cheerfully. "Daddy told me to wake you up. He said you are not s'posed to be here right now. Daddy wants you to leave. I think it's because he doesn't want the guards to catch you. Are you a runaway?"

Kohaku looked up, squinted into the darkness. "No. Who are you?"

"My name is Rin. I think you are very strange."

Her feelings were mutual. "I know."

"I will take you to Daddy."

His heartbeat quickened. "No!"

The girl whom he could not see giggled. "Why not?" she asked.

"I don't want to see him."

She made a sound of surprise and disbelief. "That can't be possible. Nobody would pass up a chance to talk to Daddy. Daddy is a very powerful, very rich, very wise man." He could hear the loyalty in her voice, and suddenly felt like this girl was a lot like him.

"I don't want to talk to your daddy. I want to go home with my ane-ue. I want to talk to MY daddy." Suddenly Kohaku felt more lonesome than ever.

The girl was silent for a moment. He could almost sense her questioning gaze, the unspoken inquiries being beamed at him with her eyes. After a while, she seemed to perk up again, and said simply, "Okay, then. I'll go tell Daddy that you wouldn't come. Better yet," she seemed to come up with an idea, "I'll get Daddy to come talk to you _himself._ That would work. Daddy has very good com…comucation skills." A pause. "Communication. Pardon my language."

"I'm waiting for my ane-ue," Kohaku whispered.

"Who's your ane-ue?" the little girl asked him.

"My ane-ue's name is Sango. She's very pretty and very nice."

"Oh." Suddenly Rin found it fit to change the subject. "What's your favorite color?"

"Green," Kohaku replied.

"Really?" The little girl squealed, somehow cheered by this statement. "MY favorite color is yellow. My daddy likes white and red. He told me so. My mommy likes red and blue. My uncle likes red. My grandpa likes silver. Granny Izayoi likes purple. My other granny, the dead one, she liked orange when she was still alive." Her short monologue about favorite colors had come to a halt, and she was silent, probably expecting Kohaku to say something about it.

"That's nice."

"Bye bye!"

Kohaku blinked. What?

He would have to tell Ane-ue about the little girl when she came. She seemed interesting.

A/N: There…a whole fifteen pages of crap and waffle. --;; I'm sorry, I just like to ramble on and on…but my font size was only ten. Maybe it was the double-spacing's fault.

And you can all tell that this is going to be a Kohaku/Rin fic. I hope none of you have problems with that.

Hope you liked the chapter!

And please review!


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